SWAT 2: Lock and Load
by DreamerMatrix
Summary: Takes place after SWAT. Newbies, Chris&Jim, perhaps...
1. Rookies

DISCLAIMER: I do not own rights to the characters or storylines of SWAT. I just write fics for the entertainment of others, and do not recieve payment for this service. Please do not sue me.  
  
A/N: This is my first SWAT fic. Please R'n'R. Constructive criticism will be taken into account, but flames will be met head on by my disciplined army of fire-fighting frogs. You have been warned.  
  
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"We got a 2-11..." The voice over the radio came to the SWAT truck. The team was two men down, but Street perked up immediately.  
  
"Y'know, our watch officially ended twelve hours a go..." Hondo commented, already moving his headset into place. They'd just road-tripped a high-profile prisoner to state penitentiary, and were at least an hour from the crime scene, but the three-man, one-woman team, as it stood at the moment, were still high on some long lasting adrenalin buzz. Hell, Street had a hole in his hand, and Sanchez had a bullet in her arm, Hondo wasn't sure how good his team were gonna be. Not like this. he called the team's bluff, and took them back to the station. "We gotta get our numbers up. A replacement for McCabe, and a temp for Boxer," he told the three remaining members of his team.  
  
"Oh great," Deke groaned. "Paperwork."  
  
"Not me," Street called out. "I gotta go feed my dog."  
  
"Me either," Sanchez agreed, "I gotta check on Eliza."  
  
Hondo grinned at Deke. "Guess it's just you an' me, Deke." The sergeant dumped a box of files on the briefing room table. "Guess we'd best get started."  
  
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"AJ Rider: application rejected." A guy in SWAT uniform delivered the message to traffic officer Alexander J Rider at the top of his voice, in front of the whole unit. Alexander smiled, nodded, and left the room, headed for the target range. Five minutes later, he was joined by his partner, Daniel Lewis.   
  
"Ditto, bro. Failure for the smart ones."  
  
Alex shrugged. "I didn't fail because of my application. I failed because I'm only nineteen."  
  
Alex was six months out of police academy, where he'd come top of his class, having graduated high school at fifteen. Daniel, second in the same class at the academy, was twenty-two. Both had IQs of over 130. When his mother asked him why a bright boy like him couldn't have been a doctor, Alex replied with "Don't like needles" then left, for a run, or for work.  
  
The partners both pulled their issue pistols, and fired sideways at the targets, which was something they did to annoy the tutors at the academy. Each shot hit its target.From behind the pair of gunmen, someone applauded. Alex turned, seeing the SWAT uniforms, and raised an eyebrow at the two men who'd applauded. the taller of the two, a ranker not a sergeant like his partner, smiled. "Y'know Hondo, you're really gonna piss Fuller off."  
  
"Fuller?" Daniel asked. "He rejected us."  
  
"Well," said Hondo, "based on that performance, I'll just have to bend his ear 'til he unrejects you. I have two openings on my SWAT team. One permanent, one temp. I'll put you both on probation. Piss off Fuller ten times, and I'll see to it that you get permanent positions in SWAT."  
  
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"No. Way," Captain Fuller asserted. "I am not letting you bring in two rookies from Traffic to work your watch."  
  
Hondo and Deke looked at each other. "They're LA's finest, Fuller," Hondo argued. "Shit, one of them's nineteen years old, handles a piece like he was pushed outta his mother with it in his hands. You're either SWAT or you're not, Fuller. And those two are natural SWAT. They could cream you any and every day of the week without breaking a sweat."  
  
"Your nineteen year old sharp shot, Sergeant," Fuller replied, "is probably a smartass hoodrat with an attitude problem."  
  
"Did I hear a call?" Daniel said, walking in to the office unannounced, just as Alex rolled his eyes and knocked on the door.  
  
"Did we win our appeal, or do I have to actually put that law degree my mother made me go through to some use?" the younger rookie asked.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" Fuller asked.  
  
"Your mother's new boyfriend," Daniel muttered under his breath, as Alex simultaneously barked out "AJ Rider and Daniel Lewis, sir," all but standing to attention and saluting.  
  
"Sucker," Daniel muttered.  
  
"Puedes besar mi culo, Lewis," Alex retorted. Chris stifled a laugh, in order not to attract Fuller's attention. The Captain was *annoyed* at Daniel, and Alex's apparent appreciation of his rank did little to mollify him. He glared at Hondo.   
  
"You got your team, Sergeant. But one fuck-up, and none of you work in LAPD again." 


	2. Guns and Boxer

DISCLAIMER: I do not own rights to the characters or storylines of SWAT. I just write fics for the entertainment of others, and do not recieve payment for this service. Please do not sue me.  
  
A/N: This is my first SWAT fic. Please R'n'R. Constructive criticism will be taken into account, but flames will be met head on by my disciplined army of fire-fighting frogs. You have been warned.  
  
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"So, you speak Spanish, huh?" Alex asked Sanchez as the once more fully manned SWAT team filed out of Fuller's office.   
  
"Yeah. Name's Chris Sanchez." Her left arm was in a sling. "Got hit by a bullet."  
  
Alex nodded. "Figures."  
  
"So where'd you learn Spanish?" Street asked.  
  
"Army brat," Lewis quipped.  
  
"And proud of it too," Alex reminded his partner.  
  
Hondo came up behind the team. "I want you two kitted up, then we'll check out the gun cage for you."  
  
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"Got any weapons preferences?" Gus asked to two rookies.  
  
Alex nodded. "USMC M40A3. Five pound trigger, 7.62 by 51 mill caliber. 1000 metre range."  
  
Daniel looked at Alex, eyebrow raised.  
  
"My dad was quartermaster with the marines for a while," Alex said with a shrug. "I think your best weapon would be a Sig SG550. 5.56 by 45 mill caliber. But they don't stock those in SWAT, so... a Tac-ops Tango 51. Guaranteed .25 MOA accuracy, 7.62 by 51 mill caliber. And since I doubt the Marines have been reduced to hocking their A3s, we'd like two 51s please."  
  
Hondo looked at Alex, who shrugged again. Gus got two cases, and signed them over to Hondo, who handed them to the two rookies. "Pistols?" the sergeant added.  
  
Alex pulled a cop-issue beretta left handed, and had it cocked and pointed at Hondo, just as a camera crew started filming in the gun cage. "Safety's still on, Rider," Hondo admonished the youngster, although he knew the youth had meant to keep the catch on. Alex spun the gun in his left hand and holstered it. "Sorry sarge," he said with a grin, as Street, Sanchez and Deke moved the camera crew on.  
  
"I think we should get you to training before we run out of things to teach you," Lasquez said, looking at the pair of rookies.  
  
"But first," Hondo added, "We're gonna go visit Boxer."  
  
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Boxer looked up and grinned as Hondo entered the room. "I hear you got the bastard who shot me," he said, looking at Street. Street nodded. "Yeah. I got Gamble. McCabe... well, 66 million bucks ain't in his account. Nor would it help him where he's gone."  
  
"Didn't know you were religious, Street," Boxer said. "You speak to my sister yet?"  
  
"I'm waiting 'til your fit enough to attempt beating me at target practice again."  
  
"So who are the rookies? not replacing me are you?"  
  
"Just temp-ing, Boxer," Hondo assured. "Alexander Rider and Daniel Lewis. Traffic Cops."  
  
"Traffic? They look a lil wet behind the ears to me."  
  
"You should see them shoot. Point 25."   
  
"51's?"  
  
"Berettas."  
  
"Shee-it. How old are you boys?"  
  
"Class of '99," Alex answered.  
  
"Twenty-two? You're shitting me."  
  
"Yeah, Alex, don't play games," Daniel said with a grin. "Alex is nineteen. I'm twenty-two."  
  
"We finally got some certified smarts on SWAT. Instead of the usual suspects. Street smarts and academic."  
  
"Either of you grasses?" Boxer asked. "Can't have grasses on SWAT. Fuller'd fry us all if he knew half the shit we get up to."  
  
"The day I grass to Fuller is the day the world goes to hell in a hand basket," Daniel said. Alex nodded his agreement with the statement. "SWAT don't grass. you don't want your life depending on a man who doesn't trust you."  
  
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	3. Showing off

DISCLAIMER: I do not own rights to the characters or storylines of SWAT. I just write fics for the entertainment of others, and do not recieve payment for this service. Please do not sue me.  
  
A/N: This is my first SWAT fic. Please R'n'R. Constructive criticism will be taken into account, but flames will be met head on by my disciplined army of fire-fighting frogs. You have been warned.  
  
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He'd served in the army for twenty-five years, without a single black mark to his name. He'd heard of the Rider family, owed his life to the man named Jonathan Rider, and his son had teethed on many of the same creche toys as Alexander. But now, he was being hauled up in front of military court on some ridiculous charge.  
  
"I'm innocent, dammit!" he said to the lieutenant general, who ignored him, striking him from the army register. Well, that did it. The world was going to pay.  
  
Which really said a lot for his innocence.  
  
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Fuller glared at Alex when his cell phone went off in the middle of briefing for a training session.  
Alex put a finger up, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and took the call, picking up a couple of drawing pins as he did so. There was a map up on the briefing room wall, and Alex threw each of the pins at it.  
  
"A friend of mine," he explained to Fuller. "Has links. I mark 'em up, inform the right unit. Crime rate stays the same, arrest rate doubles. It's called tactics, look it up."  
  
"Rider," Hondo warned, "Leave the smartass put downs to me."  
  
"Sorry, sarge."  
  
Fuller looked disgusted. Sanchez, Deke, Street and Lewis all bit down to keep from laughing. Hondo raised an eyebrow at Fuller, who looked Rider in the eye, and said "I want you to go through the course until you drop. I think you need to learn some respect for your superiors."  
  
"This is SWAT, Fuller, not the army," Hondo reminded the Captain. "Army brat could go at that course all day without breaking a sweat."  
  
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Alex was starting to slow, but only to conserve energy, not because he was tiring. He'd run the assault course non-stop for the last three hours. He figured he could do it blindfold by now. But Fuller made him go again. And again. And again. Shit, Alex could see the older man working up a sweat just watching him. Deke, Hondo, Lewis, Sanchez and Street were watching with interest.  
  
"He's gonna drop soon," Deke commented. Daniel shook his head.  
  
"No way in hell. Alex'll keep going until Fuller quits riding him. Then he'll run it again, just to rub it in . There's no point in winning if the loser don't know he's lost."  
  
"He looks fit to drop. His time's almost tripled," Hondo commented.  
  
"Conserving himself," Daniel returned. "Trust me, I saw the juvenile record his father filed as his reference for the Academy. His father trained him. From being three, he's run assault courses day and night. From being five, he had a different martial arts instructor every year, until he graduated Police Academy. His stamina has had its foundations laid since before he could walk. Sixteen years of physical training. You wouldn't think it to look at him. But then, he prefers anonymity to the attention musclebound posers get."  
  
The other members of David-70 looked at Daniel in disbelief. "You yanking my chain, boy?" Hondo asked.  
  
"No sarge. Straight up honest to all mercy."  
  
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Alex was done. Lactic acid poured through his muscles, and he winced as he warmed down cramping muscles. He'd worked his way into Fuller's leave alone books, and knew he'd pay for it in the morning. Not that he'd let on to his father. No, all he needed now was some caffiene and a hot shower. Not that the shower was an option. David-70 were marked down for target practice that afternoon. But caffiene?  
  
Alex could have hugged the four members of his team, Hondo excluded, who each bought him a bottle of Coca Cola. Although Street did give him the whole 'caffiene makes you jittery' speech, which Alex acknowledged and immediately ignored, gulping down the four bottles as if they contained the Elixir of Life itself. Irregardless of Sanchez, he pulled off his shirt and wiped his face with it,  
pulling a towel and a fresh shirt from the locker he'd claimed that morning by picking the lock. Keys be damned.  
  
His torso was covered with scars, his back also having its fair share. A couple of newer looking ones burned red with sweat, and he winced a little as he dabbed them dry. Daniel looked at him.  
  
"So that's why you never showered at the same time as the rest of us," he said softly.  
  
"I grew up in some tough neighbourhoods," Alex replied, equally softly, pulling his shirt roughly over his head.  
  
"Seems to me like you're still living there," Hondo commented, walking in, Fuller behind him. Hondo's stare, the one he used to get Fuller riled up, was matched by the blank look in Alex's reflective eyes. Lewis saw the look and gulped. Street saw the gulp and raised an eyebrow. Deke saw the raised eyebrow and smiled. Sanchez saw the smile, the raised eyebrow, the gulp and the look, and pulled Lewis to one side.  
  
"What?!" she hissed in his ear.  
  
"Gunslinger eyes," Lewis answered, whispering like a scared child.  
  
"Gunslinger? Bullshit. He's only nineteen."  
  
Fuller looked at Sanchez and Lewis. "Don't go bringing your old unit superstitions to SWAT," he told the pair. "We don't know, or need to know, what you're talking about."  
  
Alex turned back to his locker. Hondo spoke up. "A gunslinger, Captain, is an old urban legend. A man, or a woman, who can shoot like Annie Oakley, and has better diplomatic skills than the whole UN put together. Deadly in both physical and verbal attacks. The perfect policeman, if you consider a cop who could kill you as soon as look at you perfect."  
  
Alex pulled two things from his locker, and looped them over his neck. A celtic good luck charm and replica dog tags that his father had had made up for him when he was five. "David had the same look as me," he said softly, before looking Fuller dead in the eye, as six pagers and a cell phone went off.  
  
"2-11 on West and third," Fuller said, hanging up his phone. "Move out." 


End file.
